Fancy
by MapleTreeway
Summary: Romerica crack. America just keeps finding ways to embarrass Romano (and himself).


**A/N: So I'm bored. And just graduated. And yeah. I don't even know anymore. My brain is frieddddd. This is mainly crack, and the ending I had a strong urge to write .-.**

**This could be Romerica? Fuck it. It's definitely Romerica.**

**Disclaimer: nope**

* * *

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Romano screeched.

"Not you~" America sang while doing the Soulja Boy out to the horizon until he was no longer seen.

The Italian's face grew red like a tomato.

* * *

"ROMEO!" America exclaimed, hugging a certain Italian.

"JESUS CHRIST GET OFF ME!" Romano screamed.

Realization dawned on the American's face. He had thought there was a comma in the previous dialogue. "Dude…" he whispered, letting go.

The smaller nation glared. "What?" He spat.

"You said…"

"What did I fucking say?"

"Jesus Christ, get off me."

"I know." Romano replied, not knowing about the comma.

"God loves me."

"Where did you – oh. Fuck. No. Don't you fucking dare, hamburger bastard! Don't you dare say –"

"GOD BLESSED AMERICA!" America screamed at the top of his lungs before zooming off to tell the other countries the great news.

Romano facepalmed. "Remember your commas, children." He mumbled.

* * *

"ARE YOU PROUD OF ME?"

"Why?"

"I BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA GHANA IN SOCCER!"

Romano blinked once, then twice, then three times at America. Finally, he looked at the American in surprise. "You've got to be kidding me." He said, stunned. There was no way that could've happened. America sucked in football – er, _soccer_. It was one thing for Germany to beat Portugal, but this?

"NO!" America screamed in delight. "I KICKED HIS ASS! I AM OFFICALLY THE HERO!"

And all Romano could do was stare.

* * *

Romano sighed as he waited for America to get out of the dressing room. All they needed to do was get tuxedos and be off to the wedding. That's it. Why was it taking so long? The Italian had already gotten his, which was saying something. "Are you done, jerk?" Romano asked grumpily.

"Yeah. One minute…THERE! Done. Prepare to be amazed!" America called back.

A second later and the door swung open. America struck a pose and said, "I'm so fancy! You already know! I'm in the fast lane –"

"Nooooooo. America stop! That song is just aw –"

"I'm so fancy! Can't you taste this gold? Remember my name -"

The American was promptly cut off when he was hit by a shopping bag.

* * *

"Ve~ Happy Birthday, Romano!" North Italy exclaimed happily.

Romano rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Tch," was all he responded.

"C'mon, Romano," Spain said cheerily. "It's your birthday! Be happy! _¡Feliz cumpleaños!_"

"It's just another day."

Germany coughed nervously and continued, "We've planned a party for you…"

North Italy smiled and nodded, excited. "With a giant cake and balloons and wine and tomatoes and everything else you like!" He rattled on, cutting Germany off.

"Even a certain someone~" Spain added, winking.

Romano glared. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Anyway, it's at eight tonight at Spain's house, so please don't be late," the Germanic nation pleaded.

"Whatever, potato bastard."

* * *

_At the party…_

* * *

The party was surprisingly good. It was well planned, casual but nice. It looked like every nation was there too. The last part ticked Romano off a bit, but if it weren't for the really expensive and great wine (and the tomatoes, but who gives a shit about that) he would've told at least half a dozen nations to leave. As it were, the wine (and tomatoes!) saved him from flipping his shit. However he still hadn't seen America yet, which greatly disturbed him.

Someone latched onto his arm suddenly. "Kesesese~" Prussia laughed. "It's time for cake."

"Get off me, potato bastard number 2!" Romano yelled.

With that formality said, the albino whisked away a shouting Italian to the terrace. A giant cake stood in the middle and Romano swore it moved. But that could have easily been the wind or whatever. "Happy birthday to you~" The crowd sang. Someone giggled in the background. "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Romano. Happy birthday to you~"

Romano rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted with pink. Reaching out for a knife or whatever-the-thing-is-called-to-cut-the-cake, he advanced towards it. Before he could get very far, America burst out of the cake wearing nothing more than a short waiter's apron and a small tomato hat. It showed off his toned stomach and tan body so perfectly Romano couldn't help but stare. Someone – most likely France – whistled in appreciation, and that was all it took for Romano to snap out of his staring. His whole face burned with embarrassment. "C-C-Chigi!" He stuttered. "What the fuck are you doing popping out of my cake? That looked good dammit!"

America winked before yelling, "HIT IT!"

Immediately, a happy tune started to play. The Italian looked around to see if anyone else felt as embarrassed as he was. But all he got were knowing smiles, winks, catcalls, and a thumbs up. The fellow nations must have known about this. Glowering at them all, Romano turned his attention to America…who now had a microphone in hand.

"I heard you're feeling nothing's goin' right," The American sang. "Why don't you let me stop by? The clock is ticking, running out of time. So we should party all night."

His voice was surprisingly good, the Italian had to admit. More lyrics were sung as America danced and slowly made his way to Romano. "Boy when you're with me, I'll give you a taste. Make it like you're birthday every day. I know you like it sweet, so you can have your cake. Give you something good to celebrate. So make your wish! I'll make it like your birthday every day. I'll be your gift; give you something good to celebrate~!"

By now America was so close Romano could smell his cologne. And it wasn't Axe or Old Spice, it was actually a good – no, _great_ – smelling cologne. If he wasn't so mortified, the Italian would kiss him. But due to his situation, he did not even want to move. Just stare…endlessly…at America…who was now touching him…the smaller nation felt his eyes widen and he quickly tried to force all of _those _thoughts out of his head. _Don't think of what you could do right now, Romano. There are other people here! Focus on something! Anything! Like America – __**fuck**__. That's not going to work. __**Fuck**__. __**Me. **_He thought, panicking.

"I'll be your gift~" America sang again.

Fuck.

How was he supposed to respond to _that?_

"Happy Birthday," America whispered huskily in his ear.

And suddenly Romano knew _exactly _how to respond because the next thing he knew, he was kissing America. On the mouth. Hard.

A round of applause erupted from the other nations before they went back doing whatever they were doing prior to the show. Breaking the kiss, the Italian glared at his "gift".

America touched his own lips in surprise, blue eyes wide but excited. "'Mano…" he breathed.

"What?"

"You kissed me…"

"Y-yeah well it was only because you – you surprised me."

"In a good way?"

"Chigi! Don't ask me that!"

America smirked.

Romano blushed.

"GET A ROOM!" Yelled Prussia.


End file.
